Korinthean
by Isador Akios
Summary: Two weeks can seem to be an eternity. The Korinthean 20th Light Infantry must hold the line for that time, buying valuable time for the evacuation. As the attacks continue, they begin to wonder if they will survive. As time goes by, so do their children.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The Chimera splashed through another puddle, sending a spray of water against the buildings to either side of it. Another APC followed close behind, headlights cutting through the pouring rain. Visibility was poor, made even more so by the absence of a moon. Leaving the city, the four Chimeras turned onto a small mud-covered highway. Soon the buildings were lost to sight and the transports were surrounded by flooded fields. Inside the vehicles, every soldiers' head was bowed in prayer, asking the Emperor to keep watch over their families until their return. They knew better than to ask for their own safety. This was war, and every war has its casualties.

The radio crackled and a calm voice cut through the rain's interference. 'Men and women of the Imperial Guard…'

The voice cut off for a moment before returning once more. 'Resisting the Gods of Chaos is never an easy thing.' The voice was quiet and feminine, but loaded with authority. 'At times, it is thought to be impossible. But we must always try. We must always stand and fight. Fight in the defense of our friends, our homes, our families, and our Imperium. To not do so would be to betray our oaths. We are not the immortal Astartes, nor are we the fanatical battle-sisters. We do not wield the limitless power of the Holy Inquisition. No, we are mere soldiers, Guardsmen of the Imperium.' Lightning flashed, illuminating the flooded fields around the troop carriers.

Burned-out farm houses maintained a lonely vigil over the broken and scarred land. Dead animals were scattered across the landscape, bloated with gasses and rainwater. Smoke curled lazily into the sky and thunder rolled across the plains. Occasionally the convoy would pass the smoldering remains of a tank or a crashed gunship. Frozen corpses surrounded these relics, locked in the final, eternal embrace that awaited all soldiers of the Emperor.

'We are the Korinthean Twentieth, and by the Emperor we will do our duty. Holding ground is never easy. Not against traitors, not against xenos. It is hard to watch your friends around you fall and not wonder why. However, that is exactly what we will do. We are soldiers, defenders. We will not let the civilians of this world die, not without first handing over our lives in their defense. They do not know the horrors of war as we do. They do not know how protected they really are, and do not know how precious their lives truly are. They do not know what it means to have lost everything and to have kept going. We do. We can suffer a little more.'

As the commander said this, the four Chimera APCs splashed into a small field base, spraying mud and water in all directions as they came to a sudden stop. The embarkation ramps dropped open and the Korintheans charged outside. Dressed in full combat gear the troopers sorted themselves into their individual squads and stood at attention. The rain drummed deafeningly against their helmets. Their commanding officer stepped out of the lead Chimera and stood before her soldiers, men and women whose lives rested securely in her hands.

'First squad will move to point Delta on the defense line. Second squad will be their support. Third and fourth will move to point Foxtrot.' She looked each soldier in the eye, as though she were attempting to see into the depths of their souls. In a sense, she was. Every human had a breaking point. It was a commander's job to know those of her troops. 'Remember, each defense point is one mile apart. However, that is one mile of very mountainous terrain. If you need reinforcements, radio Battlefield Headquarters immediately, because they'll be slow to arrive. After I am briefed by the field commander, I will regroup with first and second squads. First Lieutenant Oron will be in command at Foxtrot. Troopers under his command, I'll see you when this is all over. Good luck, and may the Emperor guide you all.'

The commander saluted her troops and turned away. With her executive officer in tow, she jogged quickly towards the nearby command-and-control tower. Neither of them could bear watching their troops say goodbye for what very well could be the last time.

Two of the soldiers stood apart from their squads, kneeling in one of the Chimeras and praying together. They each had one hand on a small picture of their baby girl, turning three that day. They hadn't seen her since her first birthday. They took solace in the fact that at least they'd been there for that. When they finished, they spent a moment simply staring at their little miracle. Then they embraced and trudged to their separate transports.

The two commanders moved into the command tower, weaving their way through small crowds of support officers. Orderlies pushed past them, clutching written orders tightly with both hands. A radio hidden somewhere in the press of officers allowed them to listen to the troopers on the front line. A monitor hung on one wall, displaying aerial images of select combat zones. The two field officers shook their heads. They would never understand support personnel.

They entered a small conference room. The only sounds were the soft beeping of panels, the quiet whine of the holographic table in the center of the room, and the steady ticking of a clock. The table was currently showing the entire defense line in perfect detail. Standing at one end was the Commander of Theatre Operations. His face was a patchwork of scars. One sleeve of his uniform was folded neatly and pinned to his side. The man looked up from the display and fixed the newcomers with a cold, haunted glare.

'Which regiment are you and what's your force count?' He growled.

The woman stepped forward. 'I am-'

'I was talking to the commanding officer.'

The commander shook her head. 'With respect General, I am the commanding officer. I am Major Rayes of the Korinthean Twentieth Light Infantry Regiment.'

The man blinked and glanced briefly at the two officers' rank insignia. 'I apologize, Major. It is rare for a woman to rise so high in the ranks. What is your force count?'

'Our main force is still deploying at the space port, sir. The regiment currently numbers at five thousand. With me are four squads. I have deployed them, as per Colonel Roth's orders, to points Delta and Foxtrot, two squads each.'

The general winced. 'Those troopers are going to take a beating come morning. At points Alpha through Charlie, cultists attack once every three or four hours. Points Delta, and Golf get attacked once a day, in the early morning. Delta and Echo have had confirmed sightings of Chaos Marines. Come morning your men very well could be dead. I doubt many of the soldiers there survive more than a few days. Sorry, Major.' He now addressed the room as a whole. 'Okay people, we've held out for three weeks. The plan is to hold out for just two more. That's only fourteen days people. Any longer and we'd be compromising everyone we've already gotten off-planet. Preaoreans?'

A colonel dressed in desert combat gear stepped forward. 'Yes sir?'

'You're an Armored Cavalry Regiment, heavy, correct?' Receiving a nod in the affirmative, the general motioned towards the two Korintheans. 'Send a few tanks to support the Korinthean Light Infantry. Voron Artillery, I need you to station your guns just outside this encampment for maximum coverage. Do not, I repeat, do _not_ move them forward to the high ground. It is highly unstable. Draconian Airborne, spread your troops along points Delta through India, focused on Delta. Keep your valkyries in reserve, we may need them later. If any regiment needs support, radio immediately. If you wait, you'll probably die before reinforcements arrive. I don't care that you die, but do _not_ allow the enemy to break the line. I can't have soldiers die because someone else didn't pay attention. Is that clear?'

The assembled commanders responded, 'Yes sir!'

The general grimaced. 'Good. You'll be joining regiments already on the field. You people were three weeks late and so now have to prove your worth to all of us already here. Welcome to hell.'

Dismissed, the commanders filed out of the room, leaving the general alone. He gazed at the battlefield laid out before him. His shoulders slumped and his face seemed to grow old with age. The weight of command was heavy.

In the hall, the Preaorean Colonel held out his hand. 'Colonel Tine, Preaorean Ninth Heavy Cav. What kind of tanks would you like?'

'Major Rayes, Korinthean Twenty L-I Executive Officer. This is Lieutenant Oron, the XO for Charlie Company. As for tanks, a few Baneblade super-heavies would be great. Of course, a Leman Russ will do just fine, but why say no to the extra firepower?'

'Believe me, Major, if I still had any Baneblades they'd be all over the Chaos filth. I'll send you four Leman Russ MBTs and two Hellhound fire-throwers. How's that?

'Better than I expected, sir. Thank you.'

Colonel Tine smiled. 'Anything for my Infantry brothers and sisters. Soon you ruck-marchers will learn to love the sound of a tank's cannon.'

'Believe me sir, we already do. It means something bigger than us and with a lot more armour is soaking up all the enemy fire.' With that the officers parted. Rayes and Oron stepped into the rain and gazed at each other for a moment. Rayes knew this was the hard part, but couldn't bear to do it. She never could. Oron took her hand.

'I'll see you in a couple of weeks, ma'am. Don't worry.'

She shook her head, not in disagreement, but in sorrow. 'Promise me, Daniel. Don't die. Please, don't you die.'

Oron offered a small smile. 'That an order?' Rayes nodded, and he continued. 'Yes ma'am. Believe me, I'm in no hurry to. Everything will be fine. I'll see you in a couple of weeks.'

He turned and ran through the pouring rain, quickly lost to sight. Major Katherine Rayes stood, frozen to the spot, burning his face into her memory for the thousandth time, just in case she never saw it again. A commander had to love her troops. A commander had to be willing to order them to their deaths. Slowly, she turned and marched in the opposite direction. Boarding a waiting transport, she closed her eyes and slowly listed the names of every soldier in her command, living and dead. She could not forget, lest she dishonour the fallen.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Jogging along a small, scarred and pitted dirt-turned-mud road, Daniel Oron swore. He'd been unable to secure transport to the front and now found himself behind schedule. His unit would be expecting him, and he'd be unable to follow through. He'd always been one to lead by example, and this wasn't what he wanted to portray as the right way to command. He shrugged and mumbled to himself that he'd deal with it later. In the meantime, he wiped the rain from his visor and kept jogging.

Remnants of attack craft and air-superiority fighters littered the ground around him. Broken cannons and shattered tanks lay half-buried in the mud, all relics of a battle lost. Burned-out husks of indirect-fire weapons platforms lay buried in the mud, corpses scattered around them. The lieutenant paused and ran his hand along one of the massive weapons. He marveled at the power it held, even in death. The Guard officer knelt to the ground and pulled a soaked scrap of paper from the mud. Careful not to rip the delicate find, he wiped it clean. A young, happy couple stared back at him. The husband wore a newly-issued artilleryman's uniform. Oron sighed and carefully slid the picture into a plastic bag in his pack. He shook his head, said a brief prayer, and continued marching.

He passed more broken remains of the Imperial Army, his countenance darkening with each one. A shattered cart lay on the side of the road, the farmer still clutching the reigns of his fallen horse in his cold hands. Oron looked away. It was always hardest when the bodies weren't those of soldiers. Soldiers expected to die. Civilians should not need to. Of course every war had it's collateral damage, as the people at Guard High Command liked to call it. They would say that it was to be expected, that it was acceptable. They would call the farmers expendable. Oron would disagree, get into an argument, and get busted in rank for insubordination. Again.

The lieutenant paused as he was caught in the bright glare of a Chimera's headlights. He glanced behind him and stepped to the side of the road, sticking out his thumb. The APC splashed to a halt beside him, spraying his already-soaked form with mud and water. The topside hatch popped open and a trooper in arctic combat gear climbed out. He squinted through the rain, trying to locate the Korinthean, then smiled. He beckoned and pointed toward the rear of the transport. Oron nodded and plodded back, waiting for the embarkation ramp to lower completely. He stepped aboard and stood a moment, looking for a seat and allowing some of the rainwater to drip to the floor.

A Guardsmen with the insignia of a major waved him over and bade him sit nearby. Oron obliged. The major smiled and welcomed him aboard. 'I am Major Valora the Anguran Eighth Mechanized Executive Officer. I apologize that my commander, Colonel Vorkuta is unable to greet you in person, but he is deployed elsewhere.' She offered her hand and Oron took it.

'Ma'am. Lieutenant Oron, Korinthean Twentieth Light Infantry, Company C Executive Officer. I regret that my commander and the regimental commander are likewise unable to make your acquaintance.'

The major smiled. 'Everyone must make sacrifices in war. I must ask, lieutenant, where is your unit?'

'Split, at the moment. My company currently has four squads deployed, two each to Defense Points Delta and Foxtrot. They went ahead while my regimental XO and I received our orders. The remainder of the regiment is still conducting deployment operations at the landing site.'

Valora shook her head. 'It is not wise to split one's force so. But I am not one to argue with your commanders, either. Would I be correct in assuming you are commanding your troops at F?'

Oron paused as the APC took a sharp turn, fishtailing in the slick mud. He continued once it leveled out. 'Yes ma'am. Major Rayes has Delta.'

'She is a brave woman. We've been here for the majority of this particular war, and no unit of ours has lasted more than four days in that zone.' She grimaced as the lieutenant blanched. 'I am sorry. We will drop you off at your station. I would recommend that you get caught up on what your troops have done in your absence.'

Oron nodded and pulled out a data slate, struggling to keep his thoughts away from the millions of dangers that could have befallen his commander. He noted the last reported sighting of the Chaos Marines and wrote a short report to Rayes detailing that and the casualty numbers from the last assault on the lines. They were astonishingly high, reaching and surpassing six hundred. He shook his head. Things were only going to get tougher as the deadline for the evacuation drew near.

Oron was brought from a troubled sleep by a kind, quiet voice. 'Lieutenant, this is your stop. Good luck, and may the Emperor be with you.'

He nodded and returned the benediction. He stepped onto the mud-slick road and watched the Anguran Chimera drive back into the mountains. The rain had lessened to a drizzle. He glanced skyward at the dark clouds and shook his head. The storm had lessened for now, but more was on the way. Lasfire echoed and screams carried on the wind. The Lieutenant shouldered his pack and jogged into the camp. Mobile, low-maintenance structures littered the area. Discarded weapons lay stacked against what he assumed to be the armoury. Body bags were piled against the medicae, some empty, most filled. Corpse fires burned behind it.

Oron gagged on the stench of burned flesh and keyed the vox. 'Sergeant Yorik, report.'

'_Foremost bunker, sir. Designation F-21. Squad Four deployed to F-30. Watch yourself sir. Cultist attack incoming.'_

'Understood. I'm on my way.'

'_Yes sir.'_

Oron loaded his lasrifle and double checked the charge on the battery pack. He increased his pace until he was sprinting at his full speed, narrowly avoiding crashing into medics, radio personnel, ammo runners, and the like. The lieutenant rounded the corner of a building and saw fifty meters of open ground. Admittedly broken and pitted ground, scarred with hundreds if not thousands of artillery craters, but open nonetheless. He charged into it without hesitation. The screaming of the charging cultists was deafening. Occasional sporadic gunfire ventured from their horde, not enough to cause any damage.

The Guard officer ran low to the ground, an increase of enemy fire forcing him to be more cautious. One of the cultists blessed with intelligence pointed out the easy target to those around it, and a game to see which would spear the hapless servant of the Corpse-God with lasfire first soon ensued. Oron ignored it. For the last twenty meters he dropped flat and wriggled forward through the mud on his stomach. Steam rose briefly where lasrounds kissed the wet ground. He froze as a new sound made itself heard. The banshee scream of incoming artillery shells pierced the air and dug its way into every Guardsman's bones. Understanding that there was nothing he could do against it, the lieutenant curled into a very tight ball, trying to present as small a target as possible. He knew he'd never make it to the bunker in time.

The ground shook with the first impacts, throwing mud dozens of meters into the sky. Fire raged across the ground. A bunker disappeared in a blossom of flame and smoke, the lives inside extinguished in a haze of agony. Tanks were shattered and crewmen slaughtered by the waiting horde as they tried to bail out of their ruined vehicles. Smoke quickly obscured the field, isolating the lieutenant from the world. The second wave of artillery fire impacted, and Oron felt the flames of Chaos curling around him.

* * *

The gang of teenagers surrounded them, screaming and laughing as loud as they could. Vikter Reikov struggled to tune them out as his mother had taught him. He settled himself into the age-old combat stance, hands at the ready. His opponent smirked, taunting the younger boy. Vikter studied the senior with a practiced eye. No training whatsoever. Strong right arm, but left handed. Confidant. Big. But size did not always mean a reduction in speed. He waited for the older teen to make his move. It came in the form of a simple, inexperienced punch. All the boy's strength went into the move, and when there was no impact, he overbalanced.

Vikter braced, caught the arm and spun, placing his leg behind his opponent's and bending low, tripping him and sending the boy over his shoulder and to the ground. Hard. He followed up with a swift chop to the throat, fingers curled. As the senior coughed and struggled to breathe, he brought his other hand, fingers outstretched, hard into the downed boy's kidneys. A grunt of pain escaped his enemy. The younger teen flipped his opponent over so he was face down, grabbed his arm and forced it back, bringing the bent wrist up between the fallen boy's shoulder blades. His other arm snaked around the boy's neck, slowly choking him into unconsciousness.

Vikter stood and stepped back. Silence reigned. He passed his gaze over each of the stunned onlookers. He felt no animosity, only sorrow and annoyance. He didn't want to be an outcast, but they didn't leave him much choice. He would not stand by and be victimized. Especially not when his doing so would endanger those left in his care. He stepped forward, causing the kids near him to take an equal number of steps back. In this way, he was able to leave the crowd. He knew the unconscious senior would come back for more. They always did, when they were beaten in front of their friends. He'd have to brush up on his disarming skills. He shrugged and entered the school building. Maybe when he got home.

* * *

Major Rayes ducked, narrowly avoiding the ballistic rounds that whistled overhead. Her Korintheans returned fire, burning through ammunition with astonishing speed. Flames licked at the walls of the bunker and a cultist laughed maniacally as a lasround was put through his chest. He fell to the ground, dropping the flamer. Rolling over, the crazed heretic crawled toward the Imperials, laughter erupting from him in bursts of insanity. An autogun shell shattered his skull.

The major glanced around her, taking in the scene with a slowly growing horror. Traitor Guardsmen and civilians swarmed over the Imperial Defense Line, forming the vanguard of a horde that stretched far beyond the limits of her sight. The Imperial response to the charge was meager, inadequate. Guardsmen rushed to their firing posts, armor crews picked out targets, but no one had truly understood the force that was Chaos. All the mines laid out, all the lasrifle battery packs, all the artillery shells placed at the ready, none of it would be a fraction of enough.

As she watched, a group of mutants with strangely scaled arms descended upon one of the forward bunkers. They tore it apart, ripping the door from its frame, smashing through the adamantium and ceramite wall with contemptuous ease. She could not see what transpired inside, but she did see blood spray through the openings in the wall and the flashes of hasty gunfire. She saw the mutants exit the bunker covered in what she could guess to be Imperial blood and wearing wicked grins. They'd only been inside the fortification a few seconds.

'Ana, do you see them?'

The corporal stood and fired at another onrushing flamer-bearing heretic. Switching targets, she fired again. 'Negative ma'am. See who?'

Rayes shot the downed heretic, ensuring its death. She fired once at the three mutants, trying to gain their attention. 'Three freaks, firezone Beta. Scaly.'

'Roger, I see them. I don't have a shot, they're out of range for standard weapons.'

'Get their attention. Use your rifle.'

'Yes ma'am.' The corporal pulled out a modified battery pack, one of the infamous "hotshot" packs. One shot would drain it, but would also kill almost any enemy. Usually. Ana Yorik loaded it into her beloved sniper and sighted on the nearest of the trio. She pulled the trigger and a blinding flash lit the bunker. The mutant stumbled back, its chest melted and charred black. Its gaze turned to the corporal, piercing her with its intensity. They changed course, heading for the offenders. 'Ma'am? I hope you have a plan. They're on their way and they're not happy.'

'Understood. Sergeant Beltayn, prepare grenade volley on my mark.'

'Yes ma'am.' The sergeant ducked into cover and pulled a bandolier of grenades out of the box by his gun port. 'Detonation?'

'Impact.'

'Grenades ready.'

Rayes watched as the three mutants charged closer. Lasbolt after lasbolt scorched their armour, but did no real damage. A ballistic round ricocheted from the foremost freak's head, bouncing it back. Their assault did not slow. 'Ready… mark!'

Sergeant Beltayn stood and threw the grenade-belt, aiming for the ground ten meters in front of the trio. Cultist gunfire cut him down, punching through his flak armour and skin with laughable ease. The grenades arced toward the target, and the mutants advanced, oblivious. The explosives detonated in a glorious wave of concussive force and flame, throwing the heretics from their feet. One of the mutants smashed against the rockrete wall of a bunker, the force of it shattering its bones and pulverizing its organs. Another was sheared in half, its blood turning to steam even as it fell. Flames covered the pieces that remained, eating away at the warp-cursed flesh hungrily. The remaining mutant worshipper of the Chaos Gods rose to its feet a dozen meters from the blast. It paused, glaring at the Guardsmen.

Then it laughed. Its face split open from ear to ear in a grin, showing row upon row of razor-sharp teeth, stained red with blood. Coming down on all fours, the mutant scrambled toward the bunker, lasfire chasing its every step. Rayes popped out of cover and fired, training blending with instinct. The shot was perfect, smashing into the mutant's face and sending it sprawling on its back. The major ducked into cover and lasrounds filled the air where she'd been. An explosion shook the foundations of their building and cracks ran up the wall.

'Corporal Yorik, how's the sergeant?'

'Ma'am, he's gone.'

'Understood. Squad, ammo check.' Rayes shook her head. Beltayn had been one of the more religiously loyal of the unit. Now he'd get to finally meet the man he'd worshipped so fervently during his life. The major could still hear his last prayer, echoing in her mind. She shook her head again, trying to clear her thoughts and focus on the task at hand.

'Yorik, three packs left.'

'Russin, last pack.'

'Faln, primary weapon out. 5 mags for the autogun.'

'Geirn, final pack.'

The squad rattled off their various ammunition crises. Rayes listened with rapt attention, vague dismay tingeing her features. She looked around, not hearing either of Beltayn's or Rek's voices. Then she saw their bodies and remembered. 'Police those bodies and salvage the ammunition. Prepare for imminent assault, close quarters. Fix bayonets. Keep your heads down, pistols at the ready.'

Her troopers followed the orders with a crisp precision. Not a word was spoken, none was needed. In moments, they heard the roar of millions of voices raised in one purpose: to defile the God-Emperor's realm. The ground shook with their approach. The Imperial Battle Line fell silent, troopers all along the defenses readying themselves for what was to come. Somewhere a speaker was broadcasting a Commissar's final words to his men. He spoke of victory, and of the glories to come. Everyone else thought of the eternal rest that awaited them, of the pain and horror that would soon be visited upon them. Tanks rolled up alongside the bunkers, their crews hastily loading anti-personnel rounds.

Isolated screams of pain and loss shifted with the wind. A smoky haze partially obscured the field, blocking the bodies, the blood and the fallen friends and family from the view of those still living. Tears made their way down many of the survivor's cheeks. Broken bits of ceramite fell from the bunkers with the shaking of the ground. The roar of hatred grew deafening. Tank cannons opened fire, artillery shells blew craters in the ground in an unending hail of death. Yet still they came on.

Rayes gazed at each of her troopers' faces, locking them in her memory. If she were to pass through the gates of Death, she would do so with their memory safely in her breast. With one final cry, the horde of cultists smashed into the line of Guardsmen.

* * *

Vikter shut the door slowly, trying not to wake the two children. He gazed at them for a moment before stepping over their prone bodies and into the kitchen. He set his school bags on the counter and sighed, glancing through various broken cabinets to asses their food situation. He'd have to go buy some more soon. He sat in the only piece of furniture in the apartment: a small, hardwood, stiff-backed chair in one corner of the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes, exhausted. It had been just another hard day of work at the construction yard after school.

He grabbed a cup and poured a glass of water from the faucet. Grimacing at the shades of brown he saw in the liquid, he drank it nonetheless. It was all he could get. The juices in the fridge were for the children, and he'd sworn to himself not to take any. He coughed and rinsed out the cup, placing it back on the shelf. Leaning his weight against the countertop, he couldn't help but stare at those left in his care.

Two children lay side-by-side on the small carpet, covered in a blanket that could barely cover them. The boy was named Rik, and was six. The girl, Sheiya, was seven. She shivered and blinked awake, rubbing her arms a little. Seeing Vikter in the kitchen, she climbed to her feet and went to the chair. Her voice was a bare whisper in the darkness.

'Hi Uncle Vikter.'

'Hey kiddo. You should be asleep.' He shook his head at her insistence on calling him their uncle. They weren't even remotely related.

'I can't. It's too cold,' she pouted. She crossed her arms stubbornly and stared at him, as if daring him to offer a counter-argument. He did.

'Here, use my jacket.' He stepped forward and wrapped her up in it, lifting her off the chair and eliciting a round of giggles. He carried her back to the carpet and set her down. 'Now go to sleep, okay?'

'Okay Uncle Vikter.'

'Goodnight.' He moved to the side and sat on the hardwood floor. The carpet was only big enough for the children. Laying down, he closed his eyes and spent a moment praying, wishing he could do better for them. But he was only seventeen. Sleep came slowly for him, as it always did. Eventually, the sound of the children's gentle breathing relaxed him. His worries faded and the dreams began. But eventually he would have to wake up again, and face the reality.


End file.
